


The World They Left Behind.

by Klangfarbenmelodie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Alternate Universe - Some Sort Of School Thing, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Arthur is such a tsundere, As in what burn, Eventual Spaceships, Exchange students, Experimental Style, Gen, Hopefully not yet, I'm wondering when I'm going to have to add "Graphic Descriptions of Violence", Loss of Limbs, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Spaceships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klangfarbenmelodie/pseuds/Klangfarbenmelodie
Summary: You liked to think of yourself as normal. Considering "normal" was relative, you weren't lying. But when a bunch of exchange students with shockingly different views of the world invade your home, you have to wonder how small your paradise really is.





	1. i

Science was a drag. A literal drag. Here you were, facing up against some boy you had never spoken to, remote control in hand. The cars were modern things—not cars: actually land-drones from the Department of Exploration. Built to last, and what better way to test them than a bunch of rowdy students in a one-on-one racing competition?

And there was _no way_ you were going to lose.

'On your marks,' your instructor began, and the chorus picked up. 'Get set! Go!'

Your foe had the audacity to smirk before you both slammed your hands down. You stuck your tongue out, and he returned the courtesy. You were neck-and-neck. Neither yielding. Time to see how you could throw him off. You gave him a fig-fuck.

He started, and the moment was yours. Just a bit further; the finish line was in sigh—

The world lurched to the left. The bastard shoved you! You regained your focus momentarily. It was nothing, but lost ground couldn't—fast fast faster this thing wasn't built for racing—

'And it's a draw!

‘Lovino and Flat, shake hands.' You did. He glared. 'However, as you both displayed unsportsmanlike behaviour: you're disqualified.'

What. The.

'Fuck that!' Lovino snapped, shoving past you. ' _Unsportsmanlike_. Tomato Bastard! Don't you _dare_ let me down!'

Tomato-Bastard pouted. 'Don't call me that, Lovi.'

'Then don't-a call me Lovi, asshole!'

Lexy sidled up to you. 'So … are they together—together? Because I'll gladly take the Spaniard.'

'I don't know their sexual pre—ew. You've just—just barely met them.'

'My life is a romance novel. Jealous?'

'Why should I be, of a brat and a flirt?'

'Dude, you could bond with Lovi,' her voice turned patronizing, 'over Dante's Inferno. But sweetie, Toni's mine.'

 Your face couldn’t decide between dismayed or disturbed. 'Why... do your names rhyme?'

'Perhaps it was fate!'

'Considering this is coming from somebody who reads cheesy romanmpfh—'

'Let's change the topic now, shall we?' Her voice was sweet. Too sweet.

You batted her hand away. 'My thoughts exactly. Now, wanna go out for a bite?'

Lexy, grinning, gave you finger-guns. ‘Shot.’

'Great. Now don’t throw it away. Uptown or downtown?'

She hummed. 'I would say downtown, but it's cold today.’

'If we go to Fuel, I'll shout.'

'Sweet.'

You swung your bags up and left. There were only five more minutes, and nobody cared. Lexy pushed open the gates. Over your shoulder, the school was majestical. Even though you saw the sight every day, it was such an icon of progression; a feat of architecture.

Old storybooks, where everything was good and true, and buildings with fantastic castles and alleys and constructs? It was as if it was taken straight out of those. Windows peppered the walls, and instead of a moat, there was a garden. Trees within and without, balconies, catwalks and—rumoured—ziplines.

Phosphorus danced down the road uptown. Wooden buildings ran on metal gears. It was a short walk. Much shorter than the one to downtown, but here it was busy; there, calm.

'Never ceases to amaze me.' Lexy murmured, ‘We... Just look at how far we've come.'

'Yeah,' you sidestepped an old man. He tipped his hat. You nodded, ‘Medic.’

‘Crafts-person.’ He disappeared down the streets.

You continued, ‘remarkable indeed.'

Lexy took a bottle from her bag and tipped it into a vessel in her arm.

'That'll keep you smooth.' She gave it a pat. 'Flat, slow down! If we keep going at this pace, we'll miss Fuel!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fig-fuck/dulya/shysh is generally used to deny a request in Turkish and Slavic cultures. However, in Italy, this was a common and rude gesture before it fell into disuse. Apparently, in 1228, Florentine chronicler Villani reported that Pistoia made a marble statue of this sign, aimed at Florence. No wonder Lovino was a bit shocked. But... you know the "got your nose" game? Yeah. Yeah...
> 
> Flat was trying to say, 'considering this is coming from somebody who reads cheesy romance novels, "fate" could be anything.' Possible remarks could be, "well you're the who writes them!"
> 
> There will be a pop quiz on Lexy's arms later in this story.
> 
> This universe has been sitting in my head for ages. I've probably butchered it, but you all get to suffer!


	2. ii

The man arrived in the most peculiar fashion. He hung his coat—jersey—on Fuel's doorknob, and pushed his backpack under the counter as if he owned the place.

He didn't, because finding all tables occupied—packed in fact—he chose to drag a pot plant over to your table. And sit down. On the pot plant. Because that was normal, as much as walking over to a spare spot as someone else's table.

He didn't stay there for long; an employee was shooting daggers at him.

'Flat, you finally got yourself a date? You should've told me—I would've invited Toni.'

'Is—is he with you? What happened to that other guy? Did you ditch "lovely" Toni?'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'So um...'

The clutter of the café was a welcome distraction. A group of engineers stressed over their design.

'Let's never speak of this again.'

'Agreed. But won't he—won't he come back?' Lexy jabbed at the plant pot. It shuddered.

'I'd take the _engineers_ over him. What kind of person does _that_? He puts the "pot" in "crackpot."'

A waiter made their way towards you. 'Table 13, your order.'

'Was it me?' Oh dear no. No. _No._ Your eyes met Lexy's in a silent scream: he came back for seconds!? Mr. Crackpot had returned, one leg resting over the pot. If the poor thing was frightened before, it was _terrified_ now.

'I'll—get the food,' you forced out, standing, and giving Lexy and the pot a sympathetic glance. You left them to their fate. The engineers had finished stressing, and had collapsed in a miserable heap. They were sobbing about their "inevitable failure." Plans for _The Marvellous Tea Machine_ lay scattered amongst them. Poor things. Taking business as well as engineering.

You picked up your order from the counter. Ah, Fuel never failed to disappoint. Balancing hot chocolate, coffee, wraps and a pavlova, you made your way back.

'So, I'm an exchange student at Castle.' Gosh, this man's voice could be heard over the squabble of the businessmen. 'I forgot my ship-pass, but luckily Artie convinced me to get flexy, so I just rescheduled.'

'Yeah. That's great...' Oh poor Lexy; her fire barely flickering. Your arrival sparked it back up, 'Flat! About time!'

You set your load down, took your seat and noticed that the stranger had moved his baggage. Lexy reached for the pavlova, but you took her hand in a death-grip. 'Lexy. Food fist. Desert after.'

'But you _always_ cut it funny. It _crumbles_.' She tried to regain her hand, 'and desert _is_ food.'

The stranger tried to help her in her endeavour. 'Hey! I'm the hero! Stop it, you two!'

You brought their hands down. 'Sure thing. Let's eat.'

Lexy sighed, picking up her wrap. 'You just _had_ to turn that into arm-wrestling, didn't you?'

'Yup.' You took a bite of yours.

'Oh yeah,' the stranger began again, 'well, I've actually got a few. So, I'm—of course—Alfred: the hero. And my brother is Matthew. We talk. Then there's Arthur. We disowned each other. Long story. And then, on Artie's side, I've got a few more cousins. We get along.'

Welcome to the tragic backstories club. Now starring: every character. 'Have you got any friends?'

'Aside from my family? A few, I guess... There's Yao, and Ivan, and Francis! I became friends with Francis just to spite Artie, but we're pretty cool. Yeah, I'll say that. Ivan's a little bit intimidating, but we _had_ to become chums, you get what I mean? And there's Yao. We all love Yao.'

…yup. You took a long sip of your hot chocolate, trying to put up a barrier. Alfred talked so much. Way too much. You turned to Lexy. ‘ _Can we leave? He’s a bit too much._ ’

She finished her bite. ‘ _How long?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know. I don’t_ think _anything will happen, but he’s really loud_.’

‘Guys?’ Alfred cried. ‘Can you please speak in common? The hero can’t understand what you’re saying!’

You took another “sip” out of your drink. Lexy scoffed down her pavlova.

‘Sorry. Habit.’ She began, checking her watch. ‘We might want to head back. We’ve got P.E. next, and have to change.’

‘Heroes never get caught short!’

‘Indeed.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah this was sitting in my drafts.  
> I kinda feel sorry for Alfredo but at the same time ... eh.  
> This is just world-building, I'll fix it later.  
> I write for me, but if you enjoy it, just tell me!


End file.
